


hold my beer (hold me close)

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Future Fic, Good Alpha Derek Hale, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Recreational Drug Use, Recreational Wolfsbane Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:37:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: It was Scotty’s fault. One hundred fucking percent, Stiles thinks, stumbling under the weight of a two hundred pound very drunk alpha. Who, as luck would have it, is a cuddler.Fan-fucking-tastic.





	hold my beer (hold me close)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharkfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/gifts).



> [sharkfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkfish/pseuds/sharkfish) and I wrote the same prompt: drunken confessions. Different stories, same premise. You should DEFINITELY check out [brightest star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14470731).

It was Scotty’s fault. One hundred fucking percent, Stiles thinks, stumbling under the weight of a two hundred pound  _ very _ drunk alpha. Who, as luck would have it, is a cuddler. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

The party was Scott’s idea.  They all survived college, and the nemeton had finally quieted down, thanks to a ritual Lydia and Stiles found their junior year--because even at MIT and Stanford respectively, they were still the go to researchers for the pack, and unable to completely extradite themselves from the shitstorm that was Beacon Hills. 

(“ _ You don’t want to,” Lydia accused him, once.  _

_ “You do?” he asked, bewildered. “How do you pretend its not there?”  _

_ It was just before they ended the very short, very ill-advised attempt to make romance between them work, and Stiles knows damn well that his answer had a lot to do with the quick ending.)  _

So they were  _ celebrating _ . Celebrating being done with college, celebrating being alive, celebrating coming home--Stiles wasn’t entirely sure. 

He might have had a lot to drink. 

“‘M glad you’re home,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles smiles. The alpha has mellowed over the years--( _ gods know he couldn’t have gotten more uptight without breaking something) _ \--and as that had happened, they’d become  _ friends.  _

Stiles is pretty sure his sophomore self would have died, knowing the man he once accused of murder would end up one of his closest friends, the guy he trusted to check up on his dad, the one he pestered at midnight when he was sleep stupid and lonely. 

But he has. 

“Missed you,” Derek slurs against his neck. He’s nuzzling now and ok--this? This is a problem. 

Because. 

Stiles wasn’t celebrating tonight. 

And Derek is completely fucking up his worldview. 

( _ Derek, to be fair, had been doing that pretty consistently since he loomed out of the woods with an inhaler and stupidly intense claims of brotherhood. Sometimes, Stiles looks at him and lets his voice go deep and serious and says, apropos nothing, “We’re brothers now.” _

_ Derek flushes and snaps and shoves him and Stiles cackles, because honestly, Stiles is an asshole.  _

_ It works for them.) _

Derek sighs, happily, against his throat, and Stiles. Stiles curses Scott McCall and the werewolf stupid enough to brew up ‘bane laced beer. 

Because he was a freshly minted college graduate and he should not still be in love with Derek fucking Hale. 

“Why’re you s’quiet?” Derek asks, peering up at him, his eyes wide and shiny. 

“Let’s get you to bed, k, big guy?” Stiles, instead of answering. 

He went away to college, and nothing changed, and everything changed. Stiles knew what he was like--he knew how he obsessed. 

_ (Exhibit A: A decade long obsession with Lydia Martin. Even now that it was over, now that he knew they worked as friends, were  _ perfect  _ as friends, there was a tiny piece of him that was stupid over her, that would always be stupid over her.)  _

And he knew that Derek was clearly sitting in the Never Happening box. 

He was even ok with that. Derek had gotten  _ better _ over the years, and sometime in the middle of saving each other, of fighting the world and each other--he realized that what he felt for Derek wasn’t simple. 

It’s not like Lydia, a blind worship that morphed into a knowing adoration. It’s...complicated. 

And Derek has had a lifetime of complicated, and Stiles knows that he doesn’t need  _ more _ of that, so he packed up all of his shit, all his feeling and he went away to school. 

He met Chad when he was a sophomore.

“Stiles?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think I need to throw up.” 

Stiles curses and scrambles for the waste basket by Derek’s bed, shoving it into the alpha’s hands a split second before he vomits. 

Stiles sighs, and rubs his back, soothing him through the tremors. 

It’s really disgusting. 

And how fucking gone on this dude  _ is _ he, that he’s glad he’s here? That he doesn’t want Derek going through this shit alone? 

_ (Stiles likes to claim he’s protective because he’s invested. You save a guy from a crazed uncle, a kanima, faeries--three times--a succubus  _ and _ an incubus, a crazed ex--twice--and a demi-god, you got invested. He was only trying to protect his investment. His dad gave him an unimpressed and unconvinced look and Lydia laughed outright.  _

_ He really needed new family.)  _

Chad never liked Derek. He was unfailingly polite--Stiles thinks Chad  _ knew _ if he wasn’t, it’d be a dealbreaker--but he didn’t  _ like _ the older man. 

They were together for three years and Stiles knew that at first--at first Chad was a rebound. He fucked around a lot his freshman year, but none of those one night stands did much to dissuade him from his growing obsession with Derek. And then Chad sat down next to him in his poli sci,  wide, flirty smile and that was that. 

He wasn’t Derek. They didn’t have the bloody fucked up history and bedrock trust that Stiles had with Derek. He was...simple. 

Dinner and a movie dates. 

Dancing in clubs and getting drunk at frat parties. Studying and coffee.  _ Lots _ of sex. 

Simple. 

But he wasn’t Derek.

That’s probably the whole problem with their relationship. 

_ (Stiles knows it is. Chad’s face said it every time Derek showed up to drag him home for the monster of the month, or to fill him in on pack business or because another alpha wanted to meet and Derek didn’t meet other packs without his second. Not after the shitstorm with the Cahils. _

_ Chad hated it, and Stiles kinda loved the angry sex that followed, when Chad rode him like he was claiming him, like he was trying to make Stiles forget Derek existed. _

_ It never worked, but the sex was great.)  _

Derek hangs over the waste basket, looking like he went three rounds with a faery. 

Stiles remembers that night, and it’s  _ not  _ a fond memory.

“Feel better?” Stiles asks, gently. 

“Feel like shit,” Derek answers. 

Stiles grins and nudges him back. “If you get yourself dressed for bed and brush your teeth, I’ll get you something that will settle your stomach.” 

Derek looks up at him, eyes hopeful. “You aren’t leaving?” 

“Do you want me to go?” Stiles asks. 

“Figured Chad probably wants you to,” Derek answers, looking away and Stiles is quiet. 

“Do  _ you _ want me to?” he asks again. Derek slowly shakes his head and Stiles nods. “Then get changed, dude, you smell like a fucking brewery. I’ll be right back.” 

The thing is--

He hasn’t told the pack yet. 

( _ They live on top of each other, even sprawled across the state--country--and Stiles  _ loves _ his pack, but sometimes he hates how intrusive they were. They cared so deeply and intensely that nothing was private, everything became communal property, grief and job alike.) _

He wants to keep it to himself, just for a little while. So he can process. And it wasn’t  _ hard. _ He’s the last back, got in only a few hours before the party and saw them all there. His dad knows, if only because Stiles showed up at his house and said, blankly, “Chad left me.” 

He’d thought--a  _ lot _ \--of blowing off the party, but Scott was so excited, so innocently pleased to have everyone home again, that he couldn’t bear to ruin it with his the recent collapse of his romantic world.

Since he couldn’t hide in his childhood bed with a bowl of ice cream, he did the next best thing--he got incredibly drunk and watched his pack celebrating. 

The thing is--he’s not terribly  _ sad _ so much as startled by the change in plans.

And now he’s here, digging bottled water out of Derek’s fridge and the joint Scott gave him early in the evening out of his crumpled cigarette pack. 

Derek has fall onto his back, when he gets back, but he’s changed, and he isn’t snoring, so Stiles is counting it as a win. He nudges until the ‘wolf grumbles and crawls up on the bed, flopping there and peering at Stiles as he settles himself against the headboard. 

They’re quiet, because they can be. 

( _ Stiles doesn’t think any of the pack realize how much he needs that. Yeah, he’s the one who talks, the quick wit and nervous chatter and the one who argues with Derek over syrup and deodorant and what to plant in the garden and how to train the betas and if they  _ really _ need to kill the monster of the month--but there is this too.  _

_ When the doors close and it’s only the alpha and the second, there is this.  _

_ Quiet that is comfortable and familiar and achingly necessary.)  _

Stiles hits the joint and coughs a little, earning a breath of laughter from Derek before the alpha takes it and hits it, his eyes drifting closed, lips turned up in a smile. 

“I drove by the house today. It’s close. I like that it’s close.” 

“You’ll hate it when I’m constantly in your space,” Stiles says, grinning and Derek pauses. Considers that. 

“‘Won’t. I missed you in my space,” he confesses. “I wanted you to move into the house.” 

Stiles blinks down at him. “What?” 

_ (The pack house actually only housed Isaac and Derek. Boyd and Erica were moving back in, but Lydia would never consent to it and everyone slept easier when there were a few miles between Allison and Derek. In his worst moments of homesickness, he'd dreamt of going home, moving into little bedroom near Derek's, into the office he had helped design.)  _

“Chad won't, I know,” Derek says and he scowls. “but I wanted you to.”

Stiles opens his mouth. 

Closes it again. 

Takes a long hit on the joint and then, as calmly as he can ( _ not calmly at  _ all) bursts out, “You bought me a fucking  _ house _ , Derek!” 

Derek looks affronted, his eyebrows dipping into that offended scowl. It looks kinda trippy upside down. “I did  _ not. _ You wouldn’t let me. I just paid the down payment,” he grumbles, like  _ Stiles _ was being the difficult one. 

( _ The house had been a fight. Derek had found it and insisted it was an investment, but Stiles had been in the guy’s pack, been his second and friend and confidant for long enough to know that it was a paper thin reason for something absolutely  _ ridiculous.

_ They’d spent months arguing about it, until Stiles finally sighed and said, “Dude, you are my alpha and I know the instinct to provide is pretty fucking strong. But you can’t buy me and my boyfriend a house. It’s--that’s not how it works.”  _

_ Derek hated it, and Stiles hated the rejected, hurt look in his gaze.  _

_ They compromised on the down payment and Stiles told Chad it came from his grandmother.)  _

“You confuse me,” Derek says abruptly and Stiles jerks a little. He’s sleepy, and he thinks he should probably get up. 

Falling asleep in Derek’s bed is about ten different kinds of bad ideas. 

“I’m not the confusing one, big bad,” Stiles mumbles.

“Are too,” Derek argues. His eyes open and  he scowls up at Stiles, and it would be a lot more threatening if he weren’t baring his throat and going cross-eyed in the process. “You--you  _ do _ things. And I  _ hope _ , you know? Because I’m an idiot. And then you go home to  _ fucking Chad.”  _ He spits it so bitterly that Stiles sits up. Frowns down at Derek. 

“Dude, you  _ like _ Chad, what the hell.”

( _ That annoyed Stiles. He knew it was a good thing, because there was no version of his future that didn’t include going back to Beacon Hills, back to his pack.  _

_ Back to Derek. _

_ So Derek liking Chad was a good thing, it made his future a lot less complicated. And Chad would get on board--everyone did, after they had the werewolf reveal. Just look at Derek and his  _ dad.) 

“Nope. Chad is a dick. You deserve better ‘n fucking  _ Chad, _ ” Derek announces and Stiles feels his head spin. 

He’s really not sure if it’s the weed, the tequila, or Derek turning his world order on it’s head. 

“You--you deserve curly fries. You deserve someone who’s gonna fix your jeep and take care of your dad and make you go to sleep instead of binge watching three seasons of Stranger Things. Someone who’s gonna buy you tickets to Comic-Con. And that fucking old expensive bestiary from the Kunetsov clan. Chad bought you a  _ watch _ for Christmas, Stiles.” Derek says this so disdainfully, it makes him giggle. 

“It’s a nice watch,” Stiles offers. 

“It’s pretentious and useless--it doesn’t even have a compass.” 

Derek sighs, mournfully and Stiles scoots down the bed, takes the remains of the joint from him and hits it one last time. Derek’s smile is soft and close when Stiles exhales, the alpha’s eyes dreamy as he takes the hit. Stiles drops the roach to the floor and says, casually. “I hated that fucking watch.” 

Derek giggles, and Stiles grins. 

( _ He loves hearing Derek laugh. It still, all these years later, doesn’t happen as often as he wants. Erica says it happens most when Stiles is around, but it always,  _ always _ feels like a gift.) _

Stiles can feel the sticky hands of sleep tugging on him, and he finally quits fighting, relaxing into the bed, and the warm heat of Derek next to him. 

“I don’t hate Chad,” Derek murmurs, his voice low and secret and close to Stiles ear. “I just  _ really  _ love you.” 

Stiles’ last thought is,  _ I’m definitely already dreaming.  _

 

~*~ 

 

He wakes up in an empty bed that smells like Derek and booze. A bottle of water and tylenol sit next to him, and he groans relief as he swallows some and then stumbles into Derek’s bathroom. 

He’s halfway through his shower, when it all clicks into place. 

_ (Jesus fuck.)  _

 

~*~ 

 

_ To Big Bad ‘wolf: You.  _

_ To Big Bad ‘wolf: Get your ass home. Now.  _

**_To Stiles: i’m working stiles_ **

**_To Stiles: what’s wrong_ **

**_To Stiles: stiles??_ **

**_To Isaac: is stiles still there. What’s wrong?_ **

To Alpha 1: left about ten minutes ago. Said to hve you meet @ the house. 

**_To Isaac: thanks._ **

To Alpha 1: everything ok, boss?

To Alpha 1: Derek?

 

~*~ 

 

Stiles is sitting on the couch, when Derek shoves the front door open and shouts his name. The alpha isn’t shifted, but he’s barely holding onto his humanity--Stiles can see the flicker of red in his eyes. 

_ (Any last questions fade away. Derek has faced down fucking dragons with better control than that. He definitely doesn’t think about how extremely pleased he is to see the effect he can have on Derek’s control.)  _

“You are a jackass,” Stiles says and Derek freezes, spotting him on the couch. 

It’s low, black leather ( _ Derek bought it, of course it’s black leather)  _ butter soft and overstuffed and like everything else in this house, it’s perfect for Stiles. 

“What’s wrong?” Derek demands, and Stiles laughs. 

It sounds hysterically even to him. 

“You--you.” He shakes his head. “Do you remember last night?”

Derek goes ramrod straight, and he feels a thousand miles away. Answer enough. Stiles looks up at him. 

“You buy me curly fries. Every time you’re at the diner, you buy me curly fries.” Derek opens his mouth and then, resoutely, closes it again. 

“And you fixed my jeep, when I graduated? To make sure it was safe for me to drive to Stanford. Every time it broke down, you made sure it was taken care of.” 

Derek doesn’t respond, but that’s ok, because Stiles is on a roll. “You bring me coffee when I’m researching and make me sleep when it gets too much and you came down and made me take breaks when I binged the Marvel movies before Infinity War, and you do the same things during finals. You mow my dad’s grass and I’ve seen the fucking freezer, Derek, I’ve  _ seen it _ .” 

_ (It’s neatly stuffed full of homemade dinners ready to be baked, with little fucking instruction cards printed neatly and taped on each. It’s the most domestic, and ridiculous thing he’d ever seen and he made a note to thank Melissa, but now--) _

“That was you. And--you got those Comic-con tickets for me and Erica and Scott. Didn’t you? It wasn’t her. Just like the Kunetsov bestiary wasn’t from Peter.” 

Derek stares at him, eyes wide and helpless and Stiles reaches down and picks up the little box he found on the hall table when he unlocked the door to this damn house that Derek had bought and furnished and  _ provided for him _ . 

_ (God, he’s an idiot, he’s such an  _ idiot.)

“You got me a watch.” 

Derek makes a noise, takes a tiny step back and Stiles’ gaze snaps up, pins him in place. “You got me a fucking watch with a compass.”

“Um. It’s got a GPS locator, too. So we can find you--if you got kidnapped.” 

Again. 

They don’t talk about spring break freshman year. Stiles thinks Derek still has nightmares about it, though. 

Stiles sits there, holding the watch in his hands and staring, and Derek finally says, “Stiles, I know--I won’t--I’m not going--”

“Chad left me,” Stiles says, abruptly, and its with the same curious distance he’s felt ever since it happened. There’s no real sense of  _ loss. _ Just. Vague relief. 

Derek’s mouth snaps shut and Stiles nods. “Said I was emotionally unavailable. Because I was in love with someone else.” 

He stares at Derek while he says it and sees the flare of red in the alpha’s eyes. 

( _ God, that’s hot. He wants to see that when Derek is fucking him.) _

“Did you mean it?” Stiles asks, and Derek is suddenly shoving into his space, pinning him to the couch with his weight, hands tight on his hips. 

“I meant  _ all of it. _ ” 

Stiles sighs then, and drags Derek’s head up, and murmurs against his lips, “Me too.” 

Derek’s eyes brighten with happiness and Stiles thinks that’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and then Derek is kissing him, licking into his mouth with this needy little noise that makes him fucking  _ melt.  _

_ (He does see that flare of red, later, when Derek is watching him finger himself open, mouth open and panting. He sees it when he hits his knees and sucks Derek down and the ‘wolf howls, and thrusts into his mouth, fucks his mouth with rough thrusts that make him ache for more. He sees it when Derek holds his hips and Stiles rides him until they’re both sobbing with it, so wrung out and desperate it’s almost painful when they come.  _

_ He sees it most when Derek presses him into the bed, and thrusts into him, catches his hands in his own clawed grip and holds them pinned to the headboard, and fucks him slow and easy until Stiles is burning with it, begging for more--when Derek presses deep, and pushes in, and his knot swells, locking him in place, and his teeth catch, delicate and sharp at Stiles’ neck, and Stiles screams as he comes.) _

In an unfamiliar bed that smells of sex and sweat and  _ them, _ Stiles bites Derek’s pec and says, “Remind me to tell Scotty thanks for that ‘bane brew.” 

Derek breathes a laugh into his hair and tightens his grip on Stiles. “And the joint. We should send him a fruit basket.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Tumblr](http://areiton.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
